Nobodies

FRANK’S P.O.V.
(After Gerard left my house)
As soon as Gerard leaves, the heavy door slamming loudly behind him with a booming echo, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake.
“Shit!” I curse, stepping into my shoes.
“Hey, watch your fucking mouth!” my father barks.
I hurry past him into the kitchen, grab my keys, and am on my way to the truck when he grabs me by the collar of my shirt.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he demands icily, the stench of stale beer in his breath pungent.
I don’t have an answer for him. Well, let me rephrase that, I don’t have an answer that he’ll approve of. Because the truth is, I’m heading over to my ex-boyfriend’s to possibly keep him from killing himself and to become “an item” again.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to see that little fag that was just here,” he assumes.
When I don’t answer, it totally gives it away.
He smacks me in the nose, screaming,
“You faggot!”
I remain standing, still having stumbled back from being hit so hard. He punches me once more in the eye, which brings me to the ground, the keys flying out of my hands. I see stars as I try to make out where the keys landed.
“I knew you were fucking that prick!” my father roars. He kicks me in the face, and again, my vision and brain go fuzzy. I desperately and blindly grope around for the keys, my fingers finally closing around metal.
“Oh, no you don’t,” my father snickers. He snatches the keys from my unsuspecting hand. He kicks me in the stomach, which makes me gag and cringe in pain. It’s just now that I realize that my nose has been gushing blood since he first struck me.
“You’re a pussy, Frank,” he says. “A total disappointment. I wish I’ve never had children!”
Something inside me snaps. I manage to get to my feet and kick him swiftly in the crotch, retorting, “Fuck you! You’re not my dad!”
I bolt for the door, and I hear my dad yell,
“Don’t bother coming back here, you little fucker!”
I run all the way to Gerard’s house.
GERARD’S P.O.V.
I wake up early the next morning, at 6:00. I usually don’t leave for school until 7:50, but I can’t force myself to go back to sleep. It’s selfish; but I get so bored that I wake Frank up.
The first thing Frank does is smile at me. “Hey, Gee.”
“Frankie,” I breathe. I grin back, rubbing his arm as I say, “You look gorgeous.”
Frank chuckles sheepishly, replying, “You too, babe.”
“So….” I begin. “How come you came over yesterday with your face covered in blood?”
“My dad….” Frank starts timidly. He picks at his fingers as he proceeds, “He found out we’d dated and… he flipped out.”
I smile sadly. “I could tell.”
“He told me not to come back,” Frank half-laughs half-cries. He chuckles humorlessly as his eyes well up with tears.
“Come here,” I say, hugging Frank. He sobs into my shoulder, hugging me back tightly and clutching the back to my shirt.
“You know, you can always stay here,” I remind. “We’d have to run over to get your stuff, but other than that, I don’t see a problem.”
“I just don’t wanna leave home,” Frank cries. “I know they’re terrible, but they’re my parents.”
“Frank, those bastards are not your parents. Okay? Especially your dad. He’s a sick fuck. Alright?” I ask.
Frank sniffles and nods, continuing, “But…. I know it’s fucked up, but I’ll miss them.” Frank turns away, muttering, “You wouldn’t understand. You’re not fucked up like me.”
I wrap my arms around Frank. “Babe, I just got out of a psych ward. I think it’s pretty fair to say that I’m fucked up.” I kiss him on the cheek, rubbing my hands up and down his sides. I rest my head on his shoulder, peeking up at him. “But that’s okay.”
Frank cries, and I let him, because I know that sometimes, all a person needs is a good cry.
I ask him, “Do you want to go over later to pick up your stuff?”
Frank wipes his nose on his sleeve like a little kid and nods.
“Okay,” I reply, kissing him again. I lock my hands together on Frank’s hipbone and hold him close.
We decide to go after school the next day to gather Frank’s things, while his parents are still at work. I still haven’t asked my mom if it was okay for Frank to be at our place, but knowing her, she’ll be happy to take him. She doesn’t even know he ever started bullying me; in her mind, we always were and are still currently best friends.
Frank stuffs all of his clothes into every backpack he can find. We put them all into the shopping cart we brought, which we nicked from a Walmart parking lot, and throw a lot of his other stuff in there as well.
Frank takes a look back at his room, which is stripped bare, and looks like he’s about to be sick. He turns to me, his eyes pleading, “Can we go already?”
I take his hand and lead him out.
We unload the shopping cart at my house, shoving the empty cart into my closet. Hey, that has to come in handy sooner or later.
Frank lays on my bed with me, saying dreamily,
“Gee, you’re the best boyfriend a kid like me could ask for.”
“What do you mean a ‘kid like you?’” I ask, dodging the compliment and switching the subject altogether.
“Well, you know, a kid from a broken home,” Frank replies. “I don’t deserve someone like you.”
I take his hand, holding it to my chest. “Sure you do,” I assure. “Frank, you really don’t see how special you really are.”
“Thanks,” Frank responds. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” He rolls over to face me, propping his head up with one hand. “You know, since I started being a total asshole, no one’s had anything good to say about me, really.”
“I have good to say about you. My mom does. Jamia does,” I point out.
Frank smiles, letting out a deep breath as he tells, “I’m glad we have each other.”
“Me too,” I agree, slipping beneath his arms.

Notes

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